


And the Water, Like Glass

by Geonn



Category: Sanctuary - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen Magnus boards the <i>RMS Titanic</i> transporting an abnormal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Water, Like Glass

The ship was called the _Nomadic_, a luxurious little ship riding along the gentle waves away from Cherbourg, France. Helen Magnus stood on the deck, her gloved hands resting on the rail, and looked out to sea where their destination stood waiting. The _Titanic_, a majestic gem backlit by the setting sun, towered over the water. People joined her on the deck, muttering and pointing at the massive ship. A few people had the presence of mind to take photographs.

A smile pulled at Helen's lips as their boat grew closer. She'd seen photographs in the newspaper, but mere reproductions could not do the ship justice. Such an amazing accomplishment, this vessel. A shining beacon of man's ingenuity. She was awed, and joyous in her awe. For a woman who once claimed to have seen everything the world had to offer, she was still capable of wonder. Helen's wide-brimmed hat was tilted down at the side, blocking her eyes from the setting sun, the collar of her white and blue pinstriped suit jacket turned up against the chill from the water.

She heard someone approaching her from behind and her smile widened as she turned. Stephan Cantonnier, the reason she was making this trip, stood a few feet behind her. "A gorgeous view," he said in French. "And the boat is nice, too."

Helen smiled and answered him in the same language. "Flattery will get you everywhere, monsieur."

Stephan joined her at the rail and looked out at the _Titanic_. "I would never have dreamed to be aboard this vessel," he said. "You promised me wonders, Helen, and already you deliver."

Helen raised an eyebrow and said, "You haven't even scratched the surface, Stephan." She looked down at the book in his hands. "Having a bit of fun, are we?"

"A bit." The book had been lying on a bench at the dock. While they waited for the ship to arrive, eagerly counting down the minutes after the delay was announced, Stephan picked up the book and began toying with it. He placed the book on the railing, the shadow of the _Titanic_ now eclipsing them, and placed his hands on either side of the cover. He pressed down, and the book bent around the railing until it was shaped like a horseshoe.

Helen smiled, crossing her arms as Stephan placed the ruin book on the palm of his right hand. He placed his left hand on top of the curve and closed his eyes. Mist spread from beneath his hand, covering the book in a miasma of swirling gray wisps. Helen glanced over her shoulder, but the other passengers were too mesmerized by the steamship now looming above them. When she looked back at Stephan, the book was in perfect condition again.

"Bravo," she said, applauding lightly as Stephan handed the book to her. He bowed his head and Helen said, "You're getting quite good at that."

"It's not the same as watches," he said. "But I am learning."

Helen grinned. Six weeks before, Stephan was a bit of a vagabond, roaming through French cities and selling his wares. He mainly sold watches, all of which were pristine and in perfect working order. He was investigated by the police, but he told them that he merely found the watches in junk yards and bins, and repaired them. The owners had thrown them out and therefore it couldn't be considered stealing. One of the policemen had a pocket watch that hadn't worked for years. He handed it over and turned to discuss how to get the watch salesman into their paddy wagon. When he looked back, Stephan was holding out the ticking pocket watch with a grin.

Crevaine, a member of the Paris Sanctuary, caught wind of the miracle man, and checked him out. Surveillance revealed that the repair process involved Stephan cupping his hand over the object and concentrating. When he removed his hand, the item was back in its original condition. Stephan allowed Crevaine to take him to the Sanctuary for a medical examination, which determined Stephan's cells spread through anything held in his hand, scanning it and determining the object's original state.

Once he was able to focus his ability, Stephan gleefully went around the Paris Sanctuary attempting to fix little things that had gone to pot throughout; a broken windowsill here and a latch that had rusted shut. He wasn't always successful, but he was successful enough for the head of the Paris house to get in touch with Helen. Her Sanctuary was far more secure, with more amenities. When Stephan was invited, he jumped at the chance to make the leap to America. Helen traveled to meet up with him and, on the way, discovered the maiden voyage of the _Titanic_ was planned for a mere month later. Helen bought two first class tickets, and spent the month in Paris with Crevaine rather than immediately returning home, helping Stephan master his ability as best he could.

Helen glanced at Stephan. "Thank you for indulging me. There are much easier ways to return to America."

Stephan made a dismissive sound. "Dr. Magnus, please. I am a vagabond. The pleasure is in the journey." He smiled up at the _Titanic_. "And this, ma chère... this is a dream come true for a traveler like me." He put his hand on Helen's and she met his eyes. "Thank you, Helen."

Helen leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Bon voyage, Stephan."

"Bon voyage, Helen," he said. "This must be commonplace to you, I'm sure. The historic, the mythic."

Helen scoffed. "Ah, this is nothing. Just a ride on a boat. A very big... very, very big boat."

#

Upon boarding, Helen allowed the porter to take their bags and turned to look back the way they had come. She leaned against the railing and looked down at the water. The sun had set, but the lights of the _Nomadic_ and its sister ship, combined with the multitude of lights from the _Titanic_ itself, lit the world enough for her to see.

Stephan watched her expression and then laughed, "Ah, I knew it. 'Just a ride on a boat,' she said. But I can tell. You are in awe, Dr. Magnus."

"Well, it's simply amazing," she said. "It's like being in a city on the sea."

"The only shame," a southern woman said from behind her, "is that this is most likely going to be the high point of my life. But I intend to enjoy it."

Helen turned to face a robust woman dressed in finery, her dark hair gathered under a hat which rivaled Helen's in terms of size. The woman seemed to have been speaking to herself, but she winked when she saw she had Helen's attention. "Margaret Brown, pleased to meet you. Heureux de, eh..."

"It's all right, I speak English," Helen said. She glanced at Stephan, not wanting to cut him out of the conversation, but he was craning his neck to look up at the smokestacks.

"Well, that's fantastic. I can speak French with the best of them, but sometimes it's just so much easier." She was quiet for a moment and said, "I don't think I got your name, dear."

"Helen Magnus. A pleasure." She shook Margaret's hand.

"Hm," Margaret said. "I'd call you Maggie for short, but that's what people call _me_."

"I... generally go by Helen."

Margaret shook her head. "Don't give up so easily, Maggie. We'll figure this out." She winked at Helen and looked down the deck toward Stephan. He was looking out over the water, back toward France, since he didn't speak English. "Maybe your husband can come up with something."

Helen laughed. "We're just friends. He needed transport to America, and I offered to escort him."

"A man and woman traveling together?" Margaret said, raising her thigh eyebrows in feigned shock. She reached out and hooked her finger under the knot of Helen's tie. "And dressing in such a manner... you best be careful, Maggie, or people will talk."

Helen rolled her eyes. "I'll have lived a terribly dull life if the nattering of gossiping old hens is all I have to worry about."

Margaret met Helen's eyes, and then her lips curled up into a smile. "Oh, we're going to be fast friends, Maggie." She looked at Stephan again as she walked away. "Say hello to your friend for me. I'll find you around the decks."

Stephan waved goodbye to her and then smiled at Helen. "She seemed fun," he said.

"Quite right," Helen said. She finally managed to pull her eyes away from Margaret Brown's retreating back and said, "Come on. Let's see if we can find our way around this floating city."

#

"Just relax," Helen said, her voice low. She was seated on the edge of her bed, and Stephan knelt on the floor next to the table. The leg of the table was broken, cradled in Stephan's left hand. Through the porthole, she could see the meager glow of a crescent moon in the sky, but the night was too dark to see the horizon. Her stateroom was gently lit by a lantern on the wardrobe, the overhead lights turned low.

Stephan tested the weight of the broken leg, and looked dubiously up at her. Helen smiled and said, "There's no pressure. If it doesn't work, I can pay the damages."

Stephan smiled at that. "It would serve you right for breaking it in the first place."

Helen shrugged. She had broken the leg off the table on a whim, using it as an impromptu test of Stephan's ability. He lifted the leg until it was in the correct place and closed his eyes. He wrapped both hands around the leg and concentrated. His lips were a thin, white line, his brow furrowed as mist rose from between his fingers. His knuckles were white, his hands trembling. Finally, he gasped and released the leg. "I cannot."

The leg, however, remained where it was. He looked at the table in shock, and tentatively wiggled the leg with his fingers. He looked up at Helen and chuckled. "Apparently I spoke too soon."

"Well done," Helen said, applauding lightly. She'd removed her gloves and jacket, leaving them folded over the foot of the bed. She felt overdressed, with her tie and buttoned shirt cuffs, but she felt awkward undoing them with Stephan in her room.

Stephan wiped his palms on the legs of his pants and stood, still marveling at the repaired table. When he looked at Helen again, his grin made her laugh. "Imagine what I will be able to do once we're in America. Perhaps we can go to Philadelphia, repair the Liberty Bell!"

"One step at a time, Stephan," Helen said. She stood up and said, "You're doing marvelously. Your progress has been outstanding."

"All due to you. And your Sanctuary." He took Helen's hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed the knuckles and said, "Thank you, Helen. For turning an aimless young man into a... a myth!"

Helen rolled her eyes. "My God, I've created an egomaniac. I'll need to take you down a few--"

Stephan stepped forward and kissed her on the lips, wrapping his arms around her waist. Helen kept her eyes open until Stephan broke the kiss, leaving his hands on her waist as he stepped back. "I apologize," he said, his voice quiet. "You have done so much for me. I simply wished to show my appreciation."

"Then why have you not let go?"

Stephan smiled bashfully and, before he could pull away, Helen pulled him to her. She parted his lips with her tongue, backing up to the bed. Stephan moved his hand slightly lower, touching the curve of her hip through her dress. Helen rested her hands on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of it, his heart pounding as his hands began to roam more confidently.

Stephan broke the kiss and looked down at her. He smiled and said, "I do not believe I've ever kissed a woman who wore men's clothing so casually."

Helen laughed, a throaty chuckle. "Well, if my clothes bother you that much..." She reached up and tugged on her tie, her earlier qualms about being too undressed with a man in her room quickly fading. She settled back onto the bed, pulling Stephan to her as she spread her legs. He moved between them, pushing her dress past her knees and up her thighs. Her underwear was flimsy and easily dealt with, pushed out of the way with two fingers that stroked sensitive flesh and drew a gasp from Helen's lips. Stephan kissed her again and moved his free hand to a random button on her blouse. He undid it, hooked two fingertips under the material, and slid up until he found the next one.

As Stephan unbuttoned her blouse, Helen ran her hands down his chest, to the waistband of his trousers. She had a brief moment when her brain rebelled, clarion calls that she shouldn't be doing this, that similar circumstances had ended so horribly before. But she silenced them all and pulled his belt free. She moved her hand down and rubbed him through the crisp material of his pants, and he groaned. "If you keep that up, I won't last very long," he growled against her cheek.

"Tragic," Helen purred. She licked her lips and leaned back, letting her blouse fall open to reveal her chemise. She ran her eyes down his body as he hurriedly undid the buttons on his shirt, tugging the tails from his pants. He shrugged out of the shirt, revealing a slender, hairless chest as he dropped the shirt onto the table he'd just repaired. Helen brought her hands up, tracing the lines of his chest, circling his nipples with her thumbs before she laced her fingers behind his neck and pulled him down to her. She hooked her legs on his hips, drawing him to her, and moaned into his mouth.

Stephan pushed her dress further up her thigh, hand skimming her stocking. Helen broke the kiss and said, "Stephan. Wait." She swallowed hard and said, "It's important for you to know I don't do this often. Mix business and..."

"Blame it on the sea," Stephan whispered. "The majesty. Blame it on the history of the moment."

Helen groaned and kissed him again, muttering, "Oh, Frenchmen...," as their lips met.

Somehow in the midst of their grappling, Stephan got his pants undone. The leather tongue of his belt slapped lightly against Helen's thigh and she gasped. "Save some of that for later..."

Stephan's eyes sparkled and he grinned. Helen lifted her dress out of the way, moving up the mattress and pulling him to her. Stephan braced himself against the mattress with one hand, then reached under the canopy of her dress with the other. He gripped his erection loosely and guided it forward. Helen pressed herself against him and closed her eyes when she felt his hardness against the soft flesh of her labia. "Yes," she gasped, "Stephan."

He grunted as he slipped insider of her, and Helen echoed him a moment later. Stephan hesitated for a moment, staring down at her before he started to move. Helen swallowed hard and closed her eyes, biting her bottom lip as he began to rock his hips. She slid her hands down his back, into the loose waistband of his trousers, and pressed him harder against her.

Stephan moved his hand down her shoulder, cupping her breast as he moved inside of her. Helen opened her eyes and looked up at him. She moved her hands up his back, then over his bare chest. Stephan arched his back and pressed his lips together. "Helen," he murmured, and she moved her hand to his cheek and whispered his name. Stephan came with a groan, shuddering, his hand sliding from Helen's breast to the back of her neck, pulling her up for another kiss.

Helen slipped her tongue into his mouth as he withdrew from her, growing soft already, his body twitching as he allowed Helen to roll him onto his side. She covered his body with hers, breaking the kiss and moving her lips down to his chest. Stephan chuckled weakly and wiped a hand over his eyes. "You're amazing, Helen Magnus."

Helen smiled up at him, twisting her body so that she could press her cheek against the concave curve of his hip, curling her fingers around his cock. "Hardly," Helen whispered. She felt him swell against her palm and kissed his nipple, drawing a sharp breath from him. "I'm merely a slave to romanticism." She ran her tongue down the line of his stomach, licked her lips, and took him into her mouth.

Stephan took a moment to enjoy the sensations of her lips and tongue before he rolled onto his side. He pulled Helen's lower body closer, lifted her dress to reveal her stockings, and ducked his head underneath to follow Helen's example.

#

Helen eventually managed to free herself from her clothes, her body pressed against Stephan's while he slept. She ran her fingertips over his body, smiling when he groaned or stirred in his sleep. Her eyes were drawn time and again to the porthole, the night sky floating patiently past. After an hour of restlessness, the sky growing steadily brighter outside, Helen slipped out of bed and padded barefoot to the washroom. Her robe was packed away in a suitcase, so she gathered Stephan's shirt around her for a modicum of modesty. She shared her bathroom with the suite next door, so there was a chance of an unexpected encounter.

She kept the lights low to avoid waking Stephan and filled the basin with freezing water. She took a drink from the faucet, and swished it in her mouth to lessen the aftertaste from what she and Stephan had done. She smiled at the memory, the way his fingers dug into her thighs as she coaxed him to a second and third orgasm with just her mouth. And then his reciprocation, the things he had done to her with his nimble tongue. She flushed just thinking about it.

In the mirror, she saw her dark hair hanging in her eyes, a mess of curls resting on the stiff white collar of Stephan's shirt. There wasn't a single white streak among the waves, not a hint of fading luster. The shirt was unbuttoned, and she dragged her fingertips down the middle of her torso. Firm flesh, unmarked by the passage of time. She turned her head, watching the way the muscles of her neck worked. Her skin was still tight, even under the neck, her eyes unmarked by crow's feet.

She would be sixty-two on her next birthday.

Longevity was such an unusual word, a bizarre symptom of her pact with the others at Oxford. It had just been a word, something she couldn't quantify. She was thirty years old, and then thirty-five, and there wasn't any evidence that she was unusual. But then she became forty, and people remarked on how young she looked. "The years have barely touched you," they would say. Men would marvel, women would stew, and Helen would spend hours staring at herself in a mirror.

When she turned fifty and looked half that, she realized the true nature of her gift. She changed as much as she could, darkening her hair slowly so people would assume she was covering the onset of gray. She applied make-up with a heavy hand so women could believe her wrinkles were merely miles below the surface. When she moved away, she shaved years off her age so as not to draw attention. She spent ten years moving from one place to another, telling anyone who asked that she was thirty-five. They still remarked that she looked young for her age.

Her sixtieth birthday was when the truth began to sink in. She was aging, but it was a slow process. Whereas she originally appeared to be in her late twenties, now she was starting to look like she was approaching thirty. In a hundred years, she might actually look like a forty-year-old woman. But who could know for sure?

The thought of living another hundred years shocked her momentarily. She tried not to think of it much.

She dropped Stephan's shirt from her shoulders and examined her body. Forever young. It had its perks. She smiled, wondering if she would have had such an enthusiastic evening, or such a willing partner, if she truly looked her age. Stephan was just shy of thirty and most likely would have preferred spending his time with someone his own age.

_Well,_ she thought with a smile, _what the young man doesn't know won't hurt him._

Helen walked back into the bedroom, leaving the light burning in the bathroom to silhouette her from behind. She pulled the blankets from the bed, exposing Stephan's body to her gaze. He stirred at the sudden cold, and woke completely as Helen climbed onto the bed and straddled him. "Helen," he said, his voice slurred with sleep. "What are you doing?"

"Even if we have all the time in the world," she whispered, her voice rough as she guided him into her, "there's no sense in wasting it..."

#

Thursday morning, Stephan woke up stiff and Helen took the matter in hand. Afterward, she called for the porter to bring them fruit and tea. The porter made no reference to Helen's disheveled hair and robe, or the fact that Stephan was obviously wearing the same clothes he had worn the day before, so Helen tipped the man handsomely before he left. Stephan sliced an apple and watched Helen as she sipped her tea contentedly. Finally, he said, "Your comment last night. About all the time in the world." She looked up at him. "It meant last night was a singular occurance."

Helen smiled sadly. "Probably be best if we're to work together at the Sanctuary. Adding a sexual component will just complicate matters."

Stephan nodded. "I understand. But as I said last night, it is the majesty of the moment that swept us up. I will treasure it always, Dr. Magnus. Thank you." He picked up the apple he had sliced into quarters and reassembled it. He cupped his hands around the outside and concentrated. Wisps rose from his hands, and Helen watched, fascinated, until he dropped the apple to the table with a sigh of release. The four halves split apart, the outer rind singed black.

"We can work on that," Helen assured him, and Stephan smiled at her.

#

Helen was on the deck when the _Titanic_ arrived in Queenstown. She watched the small local boats head out to meet the massive ship, loaded with mail and passengers and trinkets, and waved to the crowds gathered on the dock even though she doubted they could see her. When everyone was aboard and the ships had headed back to the mainland, the _Titanic_ raised anchor and pulled toward open sea. As a farewell, the ship gave three, mournful blasts of her whistle, and received a reply from a nearby tender. The _Titanic_ whistle blew once more, the ship's voice as immense as one would imagine, and set out toward America.

"_Bonjour, mademoiselle_," she heard from a few dozen yards away, and she turned away from the spectacle of the water to see Margaret Brown approaching. "_Comment s'est passée votre soirée_?"

Helen, remembering the woman's slightly difficulty when they'd met, said, "My night was lovely, thank you for asking."

"I can always tell, Maggie. You have a glow."

"You insist on calling me that, I see."

Margaret laughed. "When you hear someone call for Maggie, you're going to know it's me."

"I suppose," Helen said. "Perhaps I'll choose a name for you. Molly?"

"Molly Brown," Margaret said. "Maggie and Molly. I like it. And I like you. A lot more than some of the other stuffed shirts we have in first class. Put people on a ship large enough in clothes fancy enough, they think they own the world. You're above that."

Helen smiled. "I'm wise beyond my years."

"Better than being old and dumb." Margaret checked her timepiece and said, "I have to go see about lunch while they're still serving. Care to join me?"

"I've eaten," Helen said. "But perhaps dinner?"

"Dinner it is, Maggie. Feel free to bring the man who isn't your husband along." She winked and continued down the promenade. Helen watched her go, unable to resist a wide smile. The _Titanic_ may have been a marvelous feat of human engineering, but it barely held a candle to the force of nature that was Molly Brown.

Helen walked along the railing until they were clear of the mainland, until she could see the wide stretch of water they had to cross. She wasn't accustomed to just doing nothing, but there wasn't much choice on a cruise across the Atlantic. She decided that later, she would send a wire to Cessair at the Sanctuary to see how things were faring in her absence. But before that, she thought she might try sitting on the deck, enjoying the sun while it lasted.

#

Helen slept alone that night, meeting Stephan in his quarters for breakfast early Friday morning. His hair was wet from the shower and combed back against his skull, and she resisted the urge to mess it up with her fingers. He showed her the items he had broken and repaired during the night; a picture frame, a carafe, the wooden heel of a shoe. He had failed, however, when he attempted to reunite a flower with its stem after pruning it. Like the apple, the two halves had smoldered rather than reuniting.

Helen escorted Stephan to the first-class dining saloon. Stephan extended his elbow, offering Helen his arm as they descended the grand staircase. The doors stood open wide, and Stephan hesitated before continuing into the lavish saloon. The walls were oak, and reflected the sunlight cast down by the overhead dome. Helen watched as he steadied his breath, his eyes scanning every available surface before they met her face by accident. He blinked, as if shocked to see her there, and then gave her an abashed smile. "My apologies. One month ago, I was bussing tables at street cafés for scraps from the kitchen. This is a dream."

"I assure you, it's quite real," Helen said. "Consider this your first step into your new life with the Sanctuary."

"Ah, so your Sanctuary has a dining room like this?"

Helen scoffed. "Dining room? This place could fit into my bathroom." She smiled, and Stephan laughed and shook his head.

They were taken to their table and ate a light breakfast of eggs and sausage. When they were done, Helen took the plate their bread had arrived on, placed some money to cover replacing it on the table, and left with Stephan. When they returned to his room, Helen wrapped the plate in a towel and set it on the floor. She used the heel of her shoe to break the plate.

Stephan watched as she unfolded the towel on the table. Hundreds, thousands of shards rattled out, all different sizes and shapes. Helen watched him carefully and said, "What do you think?"

"I think you're going to be the death of me," he said, and smiled. He pulled a chair closer to the table, sat on the edge, and placed both hands on top of the broken plate.

"Careful."

He nodded, eyes closed, and furrowed his brow. Helen watched his face rather than his hands, watching as a red flush rose from his throat and spread across his cheeks. His lips parted and she could see his teeth, and looked down to see his hands seemed to be pouring smoke. "Stephan," she warned, and he withdrew his hands as if he'd been burnt. A few pieces of the plate seemed to have rejoined, but it was still in pieces. When Helen tried to pick one up, it broke into three pieces; the bond wasn't strong enough to keep it together.

"Another limitation," Stephan said, sounding only slightly disappointed.

"It's good," Helen said. "Without limitations, where would we be?"

Stephan smiled and said, "I will have plenty of time to practice before I have to impress your friends at the Sanctuary."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about them," Helen said. "They impress easily."

"Somehow, I doubt that." He rested his hands on the edge of the table and sighed. "I believe I will stay here and explore the range of my powers. How will you spend the day?"

Helen shrugged and looked toward the porthole. "We're on the ocean. How dull would it be if I stayed dry the entire trip?" Stephan arched an eyebrow and Helen laughed at the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

#

Helen's midnight blue swimsuit extended to mid-thigh, the straps wide on her shoulders. She stood in front of the mirror, tucking her hair under the tight white swim cap before padding barefoot into the pool area. The pool was long and narrow, filled with seawater. As she crossed the diamond-decorated tile to the pool, Helen saw a familiar face seated on the edge of the pool, one foot dangling in the water as she spoke with a friend.

"Did we decide on Molly?" Helen asked, when she detected a lull in the conversation.

Margaret looked in the direction of her voice and smiled. "Hell, it'll do as well as anything, Maggie."

"Is the water freezing?" Helen asked.

"No, the pool is heated. Just perfect. I'm just biding my time until there are a few less witnesses to laugh at my whale impersonation."

Helen laughed. "Stop it. You're gorgeous and you know it."

Margaret rolled her shoulders and put on an exaggerated pout. "Yes, well. It's still nice to hear it once in a while."

Helen made sure her hair was successfully hidden, pulled a pair of goggles down over her eyes, and tested the water with her toe. She sat on the edge of the pool near Margaret, took a deep breath, and let her body slide into the water. She sank to the bottom of the pool - it wasn't far, only six feet - and let her toes press against the bottom to propel her forward. She spun around, on her back underwater, and extended her arms to use her hands like fins to guide her around the pool. She put her heels together and moved her feet together, effortlessly twisting and rising and moving through the water.

When she surfaced, Margaret gave her quiet applause. Helen smiled and pushed up her goggles. "Liked that, did you?"

"Mighty nice," Margaret said. "What, are you part mermaid?"

"Hardly," Helen said. "Although I have gotten swimming lessons from one."

Margaret made an unladylike noise with her nose. "For some reason, with you, I don't doubt it."

"Jump in," Helen said. "I'll give you some pointers."

Margaret sighed. "Maybe another time, Maggie. You just keep on going; I'm having a good time just watching you."

"Really," Helen said, arching an eyebrow. She lowered her goggles, took another breath, and dove back down into the depths.

She swam laps for half an hour and, when she finally surfaces, Margaret was gone. She took a towel from the rack and ran it over her arms and face, draping it around her neck as she walked back to the changing area. She changed out of her swimsuit, wrapped a towel around herself, and went into the steam room adjacent to the pool.

A few women were lounging nude on the fringes of the room, and Helen passed them without comment. She undid the knot in her towel, draped it across a seat, and lowered herself. The room was almost distractingly hot, but it felt wonderful after the pool and the sea air on the deck. She was dozing when Margaret Brown's voice filled the room.

"You'd think, on a ship this big, I could get away from you more easily."

Helen opened one eye and smiled up at Margaret. She wore a towel around her torso as she sat, modesty continuing to rule her day, and her shoulders were dappled with sweat. "Makes one wonder if you truly wish to avoid me at all," Helen said, noticing Margaret admiring Helen's body. She resisted the urge to pose and closed her eye. "You didn't say good-bye at the pool. I was horribly offended."

"What was I supposed to do? Hang around all day waiting for you to come up for air?" She scoffed. "I got better things to do with my time, frankly."

Helen sighed dramatically and settled against her chair. "You can make it up to me at dinner tonight."

"Oh, afraid I can't do it tonight," Margaret said with true regret in her voice. "The Astors are having a wingding of a thing, and I'm being forced to attend. I'd invite you, but I don't know you well enough to subject you to that sort of boredom. Tomorrow night I should be as free as a bird. Why don't we do it tomorrow night?"

"Sounds lovely. Saturday evening it is."

Margaret cupped a hand next to her mouth and stage-whispered, "Are you planning to bring that 'escort' of yours?"

Helen chuckled. "If he's free."

"I can do a fair amount of French, but you may have to translate. Shouldn't be too hard. Looks like you know your way around his tongue."

Helen blushed and laughed at the same time. She lifted her head and opened both eyes. "Good Lord, Molly Brown, you are incorrigible!"

"What fun would it be if I kept all these _bon mots_ to myself?"

Helen shook her head. They were in a fairly isolated part of the baths, so she said, "Stephan and I did have an encounter the first night aboard the ship."

"Now we're talking," Margaret said. "So, details?"

"No details," Helen insisted. "We agreed that it was just--" she adopted a French accent, "--the sea and the mystique taking us over."

"Frenchmen," Margaret sighed, and Helen laughed again. "But in this case, he's right. You're on a ship like this, it's a once in a lifetime situation, you have _got_ to live a little, Maggie." She reached out and playfully slapped Helen's thigh. "Good for you, girl. Use 'em and lose 'em. Men do it all the time, and it's time for us girls to have a go at it."

Helen said, "And who are _you_ traveling with, Miss Brown?"

"Some friends of mine, the Astors," Margaret said, winking at Helen. "But you know what they say about traveling with friends. The quickest way to end a friendship is to go on vacation with them. I'm trying to avoid them as much as possible for the sake of our relationship."

"Ah, plenty of opportunity, then, for a true adventure. Spending time alone opens the possibility of trysting with a stranger. Romantic, anonymous, the two of you parting ways at the dock never to see one another again. It's the stuff that fantasies are made of."

Margaret leaned forward conspiratorially. "Well, now, that all depends on whether the mysterious stranger realizes the seducing is going on."

"True," Helen said. She reclined in her chair and said, "You'll just have to be more forward, then, Molly."

Margaret laughed. "I'll do that, Maggie. Try not to get too hot." She patted Helen on the thigh again, and walked away.

It took a full minute before Helen replayed her conversation with Margaret in her head, and her eyes snapped open. Her lips parted, and she looked around to see if Margaret was still in sight. She wasn't, so Helen blinked and looked down at her own toes.

"Oh," was all she said.

#

Helen spent the afternoon wandering the deck, eyes on the water as she thought about Margaret's advances. It couldn't possibly be what she implied. A proper woman didn't do that sort of thing, even if she might wonder about it from time to time. She bit her bottom lip and heard the voice of Timmons in her head. The accomplished tracker, the man who helped her hunt down elusive abnormals in the heart of the jungle, had laughed when he handed her a shotgun and said, "_Dr. Magnus, when were the last time anyone accused_ you_ of bein' a proper lady?_"

She leaned against the rail and looked out at the water. Cessair loved her. It was knowledge that made her uncomfortable; her second-in-command at the Sanctuary was relatively new to the network, but she was amazing at her job. They spent countless nights in the lab together, examining a newly discovered abnormal to ensure it was free of disease. Cessair never complained, never questioned or begged off.

Helen discovered Cessair's true feelings one night when they both fell asleep in her office. Helen was draped on the couch, and Cessair was sitting in the armchair with her chin on her chest. Helen slept with a book open on her lap, her eyes simply too tired to stay open any longer. She stirred, but didn't wake, when Cessair slipped the book from her lap and laid it on the table. She covered Helen with a shawl, and then - to Helen's surprise - placed a gentle kiss on her lips. Helen could still feel the gentle touch on her cheek, the hand on her hair as Cessair whispered, "I love you," before she straightened and padded silently out of the room.

Even now, the thought made her flush. She wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or simply the taboo of the idea. Cessair certainly was beautiful. And there had been times when Helen found herself inordinately attracted to women she met in her worldly travels. They had a name for women like that, and her evening with Stephan seemed to disprove that she was _one of them_.

But what if there was a middle-ground?

She chewed on her thumbnail as she looked out over the water. Behind her, she could hear people speaking on the deck, heard children laughing before the sounds of their pounding feet passed on the deck. But her thoughts were a thousand miles away. She finally pushed away from the railing and moved quickly, pausing to catch a wayward ball and return it to the little girl who had dropped it, and went to the Inquiry Office.

Helen received a sheet of paper and wrote a telegram to the Sanctuary. "Trip going well so far. Very well. Will tell all when we arrive. Much to speak about." She looked over the message before she handed it to the clerk, listening to his conversation with another customer but not focusing on what they were saying.

"...little ice in the water..."

"...won't matter to a ship like this. Unsinkable, I heard they called it..."

Helen decided the message was as good as it would get. It didn't say everything she wanted to say; she couldn't have put that into a public message, let alone afforded the cost of such a lengthy wire. It would have to do until she and Cessair were face-to-face. She paid her shillings to the clerk, and watched the slip of paper go into the pneumatic tube to the wireless room.

#

Helen found Stephan in his quarters and convinced him to practice a few more "fixes" with her. A pair of broken eyeglasses Helen found on the deck and a woman's necklace with a broken clasp, both of which she planned to turn in to the porter now that they both were in one piece. She counseled him on the use of his ability, covering his hand with her own as he held the pieces of a broken comb. Stephan turned his head, lips close to her cheek, and smiled. Helen said, "Concentrate, Stephan."

He forced the smile down with difficulty. "Yes, Dr. Magnus." He released the comb, and it was whole once more. "Marvelous. I will never have to buy another bottle of glue again. Nor another comb."

Helen laughed at that. "Stop it. Your ability is much more incredible than that and you know it."

"I have tried several times. I cannot affect organic tissue. Flowers, fruit..." He tapped Helen's chest above her heart. "The important things."

She looked away from him.

"My power is handy. It's unique. But it is not remarkable."

"But it is," Helen said. "Don't you see? Even the smallest ability is to be celebrated. And yours is anything but."

Stephan shook his head. "I can repair tables. I can restore an heirloom to perfect working order. But where it really matters, I am hopeless. I'm not being a grouch; I am simply being realistic." His shoulders sag. "I look at this ship, and what you have done for me, and I fear I am simply not worth it. I fear you've wasted your time, Dr. Magnus."

"It's Helen," she said. "And I never waste my time. But perhaps I've been pushing you too hard. We have a long trip ahead of us, and it's high time you enjoyed the things this ship has to offer."

He smiled, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. "Will you be joining me?"

"Afraid not. I brought a bit of lab equipment with me... just what I could carry without arousing suspicions. I'll take a look at your blood and see if I can find out why you can do what you do."

"Bonne chance," he said. "I believe I will investigate the squash courts. There are some Englishmen whose wallets are in need of lightening."

Helen smirked. "Behave, Stephan."

He struck an offended pose and said, "Never."

He winked at her as he left, and Helen got to work using the light of the sun coming through the porthole. Her mind quickly shifted to the scientific, her fingers expertly falling into the rote of preparing a slide and adjusting the microscope. Three hours passed, then another two, and she looked up with a distracted frown when she realized the room was too dark to see. She turned on the overhead lights and sat down again.

She tested the sample several times, watching the way the blood reacted to stimulants. She finally leaned back, eyes wide, and stared at the microscope in disbelief. She was still trying to arrange her thoughts when Stefan returned to escort her to dinner. "The finest meal this fine ship has to offer, my treat," he promised her, withdrawing a handful of bills from the pocket of his shirt. "Or rather, the treat of some rather atrocious squash players.

Helen looked up at him and smiled. "Your cells are magnificent, Stephan."

Stephan winked. "I bet you say that to all the abnormal boys."

Helen smiled as she stood up and began putting away the tools of her trade. "Quite often, actually, to be honest. But that doesn't change the fact that you're quite special. Your cells contain the ability to restructure inanimate objects. You harness that power when you hold things in your hands and concentrate on fixing them. But the truly amazing thing is that when they are still a part of you, they also work on _organic_ objects. Your cells literally repair damage to your body before it becomes an issue." She looked at Stephan's shirt pocket, misshapen by the pack of cigarettes within. "How long have you been smoking?"

"Since I was fourteen, I suppose. Off and on."

"Any ill effects? Coughs, or chest pain?"

"No."

Helen's smile widened. "Your cells, Stephan. You can repair a chair leg or a broken pen with your hands. But with a transfusion of your blood, you could heal any number of ailments. Cancer, organ failure... don't you see, Stephan? Your blood could change medicine."

Stephan exhaled sharply and pushed his hands through his hair. "A bit more practical than combs, eh?"

Helen laughed. "Indeed, Stephan. Quite a bit more." She held up the blood sample and said, "This is revolutionary."

#

After dinner, Stephan treated Helen to dancing on the deck while the orchestra played. He kissed her under the moonlight, and she allowed it, blushing when they heard a wolf whistle coming from elsewhere on the shadowy deck. Stephan pressed his hand to the small of Helen's back and said, "Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private."

"Perhaps not," Helen countered.

Stephan accepted the rejection with a shrug and a good-natured smile. "I would never have forgiven myself had I not asked." He stepped back, putting a little more distance between them as they continued to dance. "This thing that has been distracting you all day. Is there a way I can help?"

"Am I that transparent?"

"No," Stephan said. "I am just that good." He chuckled and spun Helen across the deck. "Are you planning to do anything about whatever is occupying your mind?"

Helen smiled. "I am. Tomorrow night."

"Ahh, tomorrow," Stephan said. "So tonight, you and I shall have the moon and the stars, the sea, and the music. What more could a man ask for?"

Helen raised an eyebrow.

"Well, _that_," he admitted. "But you said no to that. So I must take what I can."

Helen laughed and held tightly to Stephan as he moved in time with the quiet music drifting out of the dining area, over the railing and across the frigid sea.

#

She slept fitfully that night. When she did managed to drift off, her dreams were filled with ethereal faces of women she had known, fleeting glances and feather-light touches that never led anyway.

On Saturday morning, she went for a walk on the deck. She saw Stephan on his way to another squash game and admonished him to have mercy on his poor opponents. Stephan, on the other hand, asked her to check to see if he had a supplemental abnormality, an ability to play squash better than anyone on the ship. Helen told him that she seriously doubted it, but wished him well. After an early lunch, she spent time in the first-class reading and writing room. She sat near a window, the sun streaming down, and read a bit from a Gertrude Stein book someone left on a nearby table.

When she finished the first story, she moved to a writing table and wrote a letter to Cessair using the _Titanic_'s stationary. She also wrote a letter to Stein, letting her good friend know that a copy of her book had made it onto the _Titanic_'s maiden voyage. She knew she would be tickled by that. Thinking back to dinners with Gertrude and Alice, their knowing glances and inside jokes, Helen wondered if they knew what it had taken her until now to accept.

When she finally couldn't delay any longer, she returned to her quarters and prepared for her evening. She took a long bath, shaved her legs, and tried to determine what outfit she should wear for a seduction. She washed her hair and put it into a style that she hoped would be an appealing to Margaret. She'd never dressed for a woman before, and she was a bit helpless trying to decide on jewelry and make-up.

She checked her outfit once more before she left her stateroom, and she blushed at the appreciative glances other passengers and crew members gave her as she passed. _This is ridiculous,_ she thought. _I'll show up, dressed to the nines, and Margaret will think I'm absolutely mad._

Helen had convinced herself that it was such an ill-conceived idea that she was prepared to turn around, lock herself in her quarters, and have the porter tell Margaret that she'd fallen ill. Then she would just have to hide in her stateroom for the remainder of the trip. Easy. Simple. She sighed and knocked on Margaret's door.

Margaret answered promptly, and Helen was relieved to see that she was also dressed up. "Well, look at us. The men on this ship had better watch out, Maggie."

"I'm sorry to hear you say that," Helen said. She gestured at the stateroom. "May I come in?"

"I thought we were going to dinner."

"In a moment. Please."

Margaret stepped back and allowed Helen into her room. It was only slightly fancier than Helen's own quarters; the bed was four-poster, with sheer curtains hanging down at the corners of the mattress. Margaret closed the door and seemed to sense Helen's serious demeanor. The humor left her voice as she scanned Helen's face. "What's going on, Helen?"

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about adventures. Trysts. And Stephan has been talking about the moonlight and mystique of the sea. I decided that I must do something now, or regret it." She stepped forward, raising one hand to Margaret's cheek, and leaned in. There was a moment, right before their lips met, when Helen wanted to retreat. She wanted to pretend it had never happened. The ship was large enough that she could spend the rest of the journey to America avoiding her.

But then Margaret closed the distance, and Helen was kissing a woman.

She parted her lips in a surprised gasp that Margaret took as an invitation. She put her hands on Helen's shoulders as the kiss deepened. Margaret's tongue touched Helen's bottom lip and Helen met it with her own, her arms moving hesitantly around Margaret's waist. It was like a dance, and she was well acquainted with dancing with her female friends. It was when the songs got slow that she became uncomfortable, when the warmth of a woman's body against hers felt too right, too real, and she had to pull back.

There was no pulling back this time. And she was surprised to find that she didn't want to.

Margaret was the one who broke the kiss, and Helen found herself longing for the taste almost immediately. Margaret exhaled and said, "I've been thinking about doing something like that for a long time."

"So have I," Helen said, the first time she'd admitted it out loud. She touched Margaret's face, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "But I've... thought of doing more..."

Margaret said, "Well, don't leave a woman in suspense, Mrs. Magnus."

Helen moved Margaret toward the bed. "It's _Dr._ Magnus, actually..."

"Well!" Margaret said as Helen lowered her to the mattress. "Aren't you just full of surprises?"

Helen kissed Margaret again, pushing Margaret's dress up with one hand. She pressed her palm against the soft skin of Margaret's thigh. Margaret's lower lip trembled and she arched her back, the first time Helen had seen her close to losing control. It gave her an electric charge, a thrill she never would have anticipated, and she moved her hand higher. Flesh, warm and soft, met her exploring fingers. It was so much like touching herself that she was thrown for a moment, her head reeling before she twisted two fingers and pressed them more firmly against Margaret's center.

"Helen," Margaret gasped.

Helen lowered her head and kissed Margaret as she began to move her hips. Margaret bent her knees on either side of Helen, feet planted on her mattress, and lifted her body to meet Helen's thrusts. Helen broke the kiss only because she wanted to hear Margaret's voice, wanted to hear her gasp in pleasure. Their voices rose in concert with each other, and Helen closed her eyes to listen more closely.

"Helen," Margaret whispered, her voice hoarse. "Use your thumb..."

"O-on what?" Helen asked, looking down at the tent of Margaret's dress. Margaret groaned helplessly, and inspiration dawned. "Oh, the clitoris."

Margaret couldn't help laughing at that, thrashing her head on the pillow. "Oh, Maggie..."

She extended her thumb, and Margaret's laugh turned into a mournful howl. She gripped the blankets with both hands as she climaxed. Helen tentatively kissed Margaret's lips, but Margaret pulled her close and claimed Helen's mouth with her own. When they pulled apart, gasping, faces flushed, Margaret said, "Whew... that was quite an appetizer. What have you got planned for a main course?"

Helen smiled and said, "I'm sure we can think of something." She pulled at her dress, exposing her calves in sheer stockings.

Margaret grinned. "Got a long night planned, Maggie?"

"The night is young," Helen said, moving up Margaret's body, "and I am horny."

"Such salty talk," Margaret said as she lifted Helen's dress over her face.

Helen closed her eyes, knees planted on the pillow, and crossed her arms on the wall. She rested her head against her crossed arms and gasped. "Blame it on the sea," she whispered. She nipped at her dress sleeve with her teeth, grunted, and said, "The history of the moment..."

#

A naked woman lay beneath her. Helen sat with her knees together and her hands in her lap, her own body bared, and looked down at Margaret Brown. They were both sweating, bodies obscure shapes in the darkness. Helen moved her hand to follow the curve of Margaret's breast, down to her stomach, to the thick hair between her legs. During the night, she had become adept with how to use her fingers, where to touch, and how to illicit long, keening moans from her lover. She smiled and said, "I think I'm getting the hang of this..."

Margaret chuckled, and Helen silenced her with a kiss as she began to push her fingers inside once more.

#

Helen's third orgasm of the night was drawn out of her with a scream, her hands clutching Margaret Brown's hair as her body thrashed against the mattress. "Shh," Margaret said, kissing Helen's stomach and then between her breasts. "Someone's going to think you're being murdered in here, Maggie."

Helen kissed Margaret's lips, her sweat catching the early morning sun shining in through the porthole. "On this marvelous ship?" Helen asked. "How could anything awful happen on such a magical voyage. This is a fairy tale, Molly." She kissed Margaret's lips again, their smiles fading as their arousal grew.

Margaret twisted her hips, using her superior weight to pin Helen to the mattress underneath her. Helen groaned, sighed, and whimpered as Margaret went back to work on her.

The sun was beginning to rise above the ocean, lighting the new day. It was Sunday, April 14.

#

Margaret finally begged for a bit of relief around noon, and Helen kissed her cheeks and lips before pulling the blankets up over them. She was exhausted, sore and tired, her body humming from the hours of pleasure she'd inflicted upon it. Margaret quickly fell asleep, but Helen couldn't bring herself to, even as fatigued as she was. She touched Margaret's body, her shoulder and her hip, her stomach.

She didn't know why she waited so long. She didn't know why she had fought it so earnestly. The moments she shared with women, the feelings she had for some of the closest women in her life, and she refused to act upon them simply because... why? Because it wasn't done? There was a time no one would have believe a woman was a doctor. Things changed. Ideas changed. Worlds changed.

Helen kissed Margaret's lips. "Rested enough?"

"You're going to kill me," Margaret said, keeping her eyes closed. "Give me an hour, huh?"

Helen spoke with her lips against Margaret's cheek. "I may have to start without you..."

Margaret patted Helen's hip. "You do what you gotta do, sweetheart."

Helen laughed and rolled onto her back. She listened to the sounds of Margaret breathing next to her while she looked up at the stateroom's ceiling. She wanted to live her life over again, or at least replay some individual moments. She wanted to experience lovemaking with women, wanted to know how every woman she'd ever met tasted and what she sounded like when she climaxed.

_It's never too late to start,_ she thought, biting her lip as she slid her hand down her stomach. She spread her fingers over her mound, her lips parting in a silent gasp as she thought about the women she had known. Mary Garden... Gertrude and Alice... oh, what would it be like to share her bed with two women? She closed her eyes as her fingers explored. She hunched her shoulders, whimpering as her teeth worried her lip. She turned her head, her chin against her shoulder, and saw Margaret was awake and watching her.

"Thought you were asleep," Helen murmured breathlessly.

"This is more entertaining than most of my dreams."

Helen grinned. "Care to lend a hand?"

Margaret shook her head, sliding her hand between her own legs as she watched Helen. "You're doing just fine."

Helen lowered her eyes and watched Margaret's hand work between her thighs. Before long, both women were breathing heavily. "Margaret," Helen whispered, and Margaret couldn't manage a coherent response. Helen leaned in and kissed her, and Margaret trembled through her climax. Helen pulled back, wet her lips with a swipe of her tongue, and said, "This is going to be a great trip."

Margaret brushed her wet fingertips over Helen's mouth and then covered Helen's body with her own.

#

They finally both managed to sleep, and Helen woke in late afternoon with Margaret's arm draped across her chest. She lifted her arm and kissed the fingertips. _At last,_ she thought. _This is right._

Margaret ordered dinner from the steward before they took turns bathing, and the food arrived while Helen was in the tub. Margaret carried a tray of sliced fruit into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, smiling down at Helen. "So I think we have to say it out loud," she said. She plucked a grape from the stem and held it out.

Helen flicked her tongue against Margaret's fingers as she snatched it away, and then leaned back into the curve of the tub. "That this isn't some grand romance? Yes, it should probably be clear."

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. But I'm glad we did it."

"As am I," Helen said. "I know I would have regretted it otherwise."

Margaret fed her another grape. "You were looking for something, weren't you? I mean, besides adventure."

"I was. I was looking for an answer."

"Did you find it?"

Helen smiled and lifted her foot from the water.

"I'm glad I could be of assistance, then, Dr. Magnus."

"You could continue to be of assistance, Ms. Brown," Helen said.

Margaret sighed and put the tray down on the edge of the washbasin. "You're insatiable, Helen." She pulled up the sleeve of her dress and sank her hand into the water.

#

Helen finally left Margaret Brown's room nearly twenty-four hours after she arrived. She passed lovers on the deck and felt a thrill, a kinship with them that made her feel warm despite the breeze off the water. She could hear men's laughter from the smoking room, and changed course to avoid it. She didn't feel like being in the company of men tonight, not even for simple socializing. She needed to be in the presence of women, needed to smell their perfume and hear the music of their laughter. The truth was she wanted to take every woman she saw to bed with her. It seemed once she tested the water with one toe, she had no choice but to dive in head first.

She originally thought the air smelled different because of her epiphany, but then she realized that there was actually something new on the breeze. She walked closer to the railing and rested her arms on it, leaning forward to look down at the water. The night was calm, deep and dark, and the water was like a pane of unblemished glass.

"Ah, my dear Dr. Magnus." She turned toward Stephan's voice with a smile. "I was beginning to fear you had jumped ship." He touched her cheek as if examining a sculpture. He winked and said, "_Magnifique_. I see you took care of your distraction."

"And how," Helen said. "I was just about to return to my quarters."

"Didn't get much sleep?"

Helen chuckled. "I've spent too much time ignoring feelings and making excuses for myself. No more. Life is far too long to hide, and far too short to not experience everything you crave. I spent today making love to a beautiful woman. And I plan to do it again as soon as possible."

"The same woman?" Stephan asked, turning to watch a woman walk past them on the deck.

Helen followed his gaze, letting her eyes roam down the anonymous woman's body. She shrugged and said, "Why limit myself?"

"Get yourself to bed," Stephan said, and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "If you care to remind yourself of the joys a man can provide, you know where my quarters are."

"I do indeed," Helen said, and yelped as he swatted her ass. She watched him go, looking around to see if anyone had noticed his brazen slap, and then continued along the deck. She finally identified the smell; it smelled exactly like the Dachstein ice caves where she tracked down a living Jötunn.

Yes, she decided. It was the smell of ice. The air was thick with it.

#

Helen washed again before changing into her nightgown, pinning her hair up and crawling into her already-familiar bed. She was asleep within minutes, dozing peacefully with her lips curled into a lazy smile as her subconscious replayed a greatest hits of the previous day disguised as dreams. Several of the dreams included Cessair in a staring role, and Helen moaned in her sleep.

When she woke, she thought it was simply because of a change in the ship's speed. She shifted under the blankets, pulling them tighter around her, and rolled onto her side. She pulled her knees up, eyes closed as she tried to recapture the half-dream, half-fantasy of Margaret Brown and Cessair undressing her in one of the Sanctuary's habitats.

Something wasn't right. A noise, a grinding sound.

Helen opened her eyes and listened to the night. It was faint, and stopped as soon as she identified it. Whatever it was, it certainly couldn't have been that big of a problem. This was the _Titanic_, after all.

Still, something made her sit up and leave the warmth of her bed. She pulled a coat on over her nightgown - certainly she would be able to return to her slumber soon - and walked barefoot to her cabin door. The lights outside were blinding, and she blinked a few times before she stepped out. A steward was moving down the hall toward her, his pace hurried but not urgent. He met her eyes, nodded curtly, and put on another burst of speed in the hopes that she wouldn't speak to him.

"Excuse me," Helen said. "Did something happen?"

"No," the steward said. Then, apparently sensing he was being rude, tossed over his shoulder, "Iceberg, I think."

Helen frowned at his retreating back. She considered her bed, but she couldn't leave the mystery alone. Not until she got a little more information. She returned to her bed just long enough to put on a pair of slippers, and then walked back to the now-empty hall. The ship was quiet, still, and seemed completely put to bed. She felt like a little girl, tiptoeing past her father's study in search of late night cookies.

Her mind was full of questions. How could a ship like this have hit an iceberg? If the lookouts hadn't seen it in time to change course, that would imply it was small enough to just glance off the hull. No reason for her to be walking down the hall at midnight, in her underclothes.

She pulled the coat closed over the bodice of her nightgown as she stepped out onto the deck. Boys who should have been in bed hours ago were on the lower deck, tossing chunks of ice at one another. Helen ignored them as she walked to the railing. The air was almost unbearably cold this close to the water, and she had to stay back a few feet as she looked at the sea surrounding them. She saw some ice, but they were far away and inconsequential.

The ship had hit an iceberg. It happened all the time, right? Certainly in this part of the world it was inevitable. And a ship with the audacity to call itself unsinkable would have factored that into the route of their maiden voyage. Everything was fine. She turned, her eyelids already heavy in anticipation of sleeping again.

A steward appeared out of nowhere, not the one who had spoken to her when she left her room, and shoved something into her hands. "Get to the lifeboats," he said simply, and pushed her to one side so he could continue down the deck. His arms were full of lifejackets, and Helen looked down to see that he had put one of them into her hands.

"What?" Helen asked, her sleep-fogged mind shocked by the audacity of this steward to touch her the way he had. "How dare you? What--"

"We've hit an iceberg," the steward barked. "We are going to sink."

Helen stared after him in shock. Her mind rebelled, and then a quiet voice asked why he would lie. She pulled the life jacket over her head, not bothering to fix her hair, and twisted to look around the deck. Other people were wearing the bulky white jackets and starting to realize the gravity of the situation. Two names ran through her mind so quickly - Stephan and Molly Brown - that she couldn't have sworn which she thought of first.

Her slippers made shushing sounds on the wood of the deck as she ran, the cool air wrapping the nightgown around her thighs. She was freezing, but she didn't want to waste time going back to her stateroom for a change of clothes. She arrived at Stephan's quarters and slapped her palm against the door, breathing heavily as she listened for signs that what the steward said was true. How could the ship be sinking? Impossible. To save face, she would just claim she had woken aroused and wanted to go to bed with him.

The door opened, and Stephan appeared fully dressed in front of her. "Thank God," he said. "You already heard. I was about to come find you." He kissed Helen's lips, a kiss of gratitude and relief, and turned back to pick up his coat. It was only as he was coming out of his room that he realized what she was wearing. "Good Lord, Helen." He pulled a trenchcoat from the hook next to the door and handed it to her. "What were you thinking?"

"I heard the ship hit an iceberg. Certainly it's not serious."

"The ship is sinking," Stephan said. His voice was dire, but his expression was intense and eager. "But not if I have anything to say about it."

Helen frowned. "Stephan, what are you talking about?" He started walking without answering, and she had no choice but to follow him. She pulled on the trenchcoat, which provided some protection from the wind, but not much. "Talk to me, Stephan."

Stephan held up his hands. "I can fix this, Helen."

They returned to the promenade, and Helen saw a completely different situation taking place. People were frantically moving toward the stairs, racing toward the top deck where the lifeboats were. Some of them had lifejackets, but all of them were in pajamas or sloppily-buttoned shirts and dresses. The look of fear on their faces was hard to ignore, but Helen had to focus on Stephan's insane mission.

"You're completely mad," she said. "You couldn't fix a plate..."

"The plate was an anomaly," Stephan said. "This is different. I know it, I can feel it. The plate did not matter, the flowers did not matter. This... I can save the lives of everyone on this ship!"

She grabbed his sleeve and tried to hold him back, but he yanked his arm forward and her fingers slipped. "I need you to help me with the signs," he said as he found the stairwell leading down into the bowels of the ships. The ship seemed to cant forward at an unnatural angle as they started down the stairs. She and Stephan stayed well to the right, letting the passengers fleeing upward pass them, and tried to talk reason into him.

"Stephan, it's admirable what you're trying to do. But you cannot..."

"What does this say?" He jabbed his finger at a sign written in English.

Helen considered lying, but that would just leave him stranded in the ship. "Boilers, right. But Stephan..."

"I overheard two stewards talking," he said as he continued to run. "The iceberg hit on the starboard side, and the boiler rooms are filling with water."

Helen recalled the newspapers touting watertight compartments that prevented the ship from filling up with water. "We'll be fine, Stephan. We may have to wait for another ship to arrive, but we'll--"

"There's no time," Stephan growled. Helen knew that sound, knew stubbornness when she heard it. But he was right; water was flowing down the corridor, already up to their ankles. Her slippers were completely sodden and her feet were like ice. "Stephan, I won't let you throw your life away."

Stephan spun on her, eyes wild. "This is what you wanted. This is why you came to get me. To teach me how to use my ability for the greater good. Do you believe in fate, Helen?" He gripped her shoulders. "I was meant to meet you, to spend time on this ship. It is my destiny to save them. It's why I was given this ability in the first place. Please, Helen. Please, let me use it to save the _Titanic._"

Helen held his gaze for a long moment, and then looked at the signage. "Boiler room," she said. "It's this way."

Stephan's shoulders relaxed, his face bright with relief. "I shall give you all the credit, my dear Helen. Count on that. Come!"

Helen cursed under her breath as they ran, praying she wasn't running to her own grave.

#

Four hours earlier, Helen had been pressing her cheek against Margaret's thigh, her face wet with sweat and her lips wet with something else. It seemed impossible that she was now racing through ice cold water in her nightgown. The water was already up to her thighs, and she and Stephan were struggling against the increasing tilt of the floor. _It's true, my God in Heaven, the ship is really sinking._

"I never discount the impossible when you're involved," she muttered.

Stephan looked back at her, frowning. She had spoken in English. "Something Tesla said to me once," she said. "Never mind."

A group of stokers from the boiler room came past them, going in the other direction, and grabbed Helen's shoulders. "C'mon, lady. Just 'cause your husband ain't got no sense is no reason to die wit' 'im."

She pulled away from him, suddenly furious that everyone was assuming Stephan was her husband. As if she couldn't make decisions for herself, as if she was some brainless chippy who followed subserviently behind some man no matter where he went. She snapped, "He is _not_ my husband; he is the man I am letting fuck me this week. Now shove off!"

The stoker's eyes were so wide she thought they would fall out, but she didn't wait to see if they did. She stormed after Stephan, who had continued on his trek without noticing her being delayed. When she caught up to him again, she said, "What exactly is it you plan to do? The ship is already filling with water."

"I can repair the damage, keep any more water from getting in. The ship will be a lost cause, but people will be safe. We may just have to spend the rest of the night on a ship canted at a bizarre angle." He smiled and barked a laugh. Helen hated the laugh; there was too much insanity in it. "Think of the stories people will have for their grandchildren! The night the world turned on its side."

They finally reached the outer edge of the ship and Stephan pushed aside some equipment to get close enough to touch. He rolled his shoulders, shook his arms to loosen them up, and then planted his hands on the metal. He bowed his head and, for a moment, it looked like he was trying to push the ship back into its correct orientation. The curls of smoke rose from his hands almost immediately, thick plumes of it that wrapped around Stephan's body like a cloak. He cried out in surprise and pain, his body starting to tremble.

"Stephan, you can't possibly repair a ship of this size," Helen said.

"If I can help... even a little..." He grunted. "One life versus thousands, Helen. I know what you would say if it was your life at risk."

Helen pressed her lips together. She had been fighting acknowledgment of the true reason she didn't want Stephan to come down here; he didn't plan on ever coming out. He didn't want to save the _Titanic_. That the ship would sink was a forgone conclusion and they both knew it. He wanted to save the passengers.

"Stephan..."

"Go, Helen," he said. His voice was strained. "Find a lifeboat."

Helen climbed on a machine to get close to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. His body was hot through his clothes, and she nearly jerked her hands away. He turned his head to her, and they kissed. His lips burned hers, his body heat washing over her. It was like standing in the door of a furnace. She immediately began to sweat and, when she pulled away from him, she saw the world through shimmering lines of heat.

"Not many men get to see heaven before they die," he said. "Thank you for this voyage, Helen. I love you for giving me this. For bringing me to my destiny."

She started to cry, but the tears evaporated on her skin. "I won't forget you, Stephan."

"I'm not surprised. I'm quite a man."

Helen laughed and backed away out of the heat. The sudden cold of the room was jarring, but she pushed past it as she turned away. Her tears flowed down her cheeks now, so she didn't turn back. She didn't want to risk Stephan seeing her.

The corridor was flooded to her waist now, and her teeth were chattering by the time she made it back to the stairs. She gathered her nightgown, pulling the sodden material away from her legs as she raced back up to the deck. Gravity was wrong, and she kept trying to fall backward, back down to the water, down to certain hypothermia if not drowning. She reached the deck, the writhing mass of humanity who had finally admitted that this was a Very Bad Night. She tried to remember how many lifeboats she had seen; certainly not enough for this many people.

A man turned when she brushed against him. He looked at her for a moment and then put a hand on her shoulder. "They're saying women and children first," he said, and pushed her ahead of him. Helen wanted to argue, but some animal part of her brain refused. She was being pushed toward salvation and she couldn't fight against that.

Suddenly, the ship lurched. Helen's hand grabbed at the wall as her feet slipped out from underneath her. The man who had pushed her ahead now grabbed her hips as she fell into him, but he was just as lost as she was. "This is it," she heard him say, and then he began to pray. He let go of her, and Helen tumbled. She didn't have to fall far; the water met her halfway in a surging wave, enveloping her and dragging her under.

Helen's last thought before she blacked out was dark humor that her gift of longevity had barely last sixty years.

#

In the memory, or hallucination, or dream, her mother's voice was warm against her ear. "What do you want to do when you're a grown-up?"

Eyes bright, Helen had turned to her mother and said, "Everything!"

Her mother pressed their foreheads together and laughed.

Helen had been six. Now she was sixty. One day, she would be six hundred.

Or would she? Her mind revived, told her that she wasn't breathing at the moment, that she was under water, freezing, suffocating, drowning. She knew she had to swim, but wasn't it easier to just drift, just let it go?

But someone was holding her. She opened her eyes and, in the darkness, thought she saw a familiar face. She thought a name, but that was impossible. She was back at the Sanctuary, with no way to have gotten here in time even if she wanted to. An image flashed in Helen's mind; her friend at the Sanctuary sensing great distress, and a call for help going out. The mermaid currently guiding Helen's limp body to the surface was close enough to answer the call.

Helen's thoughts of oblivion erased, she clung to her friend's sister. When they reached the surface, the mermaid released her and Helen swam the last few feet herself. She broke the surface with a gasp, her voice croaking as she cried, "Help!" All around her were the voices of the doomed, the cries as people floundered, the horrible death knells of people she had passed on deck without notice.

"Maggie!"

Helen's eyes snapped wide and she swam in a circle. The voice had come from everywhere, it seemed. She paddled, desperate to stay afloat, but _God_ it was cold. And then she saw it; a lifeboat like Charon's ferry. Something splashed the water near Helen's shoulder and she grabbed for it, wrapping her arms around the oar and clinging desperately to it.

"Come on, Maggie, I can't do it all myself!"

Helen began to climb the oar. When she reached the side of the lifeboat, strong hands grabbed the back of her borrowed coat and hauled her out of the water. She clung to her savior, impossibly warm in the night of ice. She wrapped her arms around Margaret and said, "Molly... God, Molly..."

"Fancy meeting you here," Margaret said.

"Why is she calling you Molly?" a man asked.

"It's my name," Margaret said matter-of-factly. "The unsinkable Molly Brown, that's me. Now give me that goddamn blanket."

A blanket was suddenly draped over Helen's shoulders and she clutched it closed with one hand. The words seemed inadequate, but Helen said, "Thank you."

Margaret wrapped an arm around Helen and pulled her close. "Don't thank me yet, Maggie. We're still a long way from okay."

Helen turned and looked back toward the ship. It was unthinkable, unimaginable. The stern rose from the water as if the _Titanic_ had been thrown from the sky, slowly sinking into the water. For a brief moment, she thought she could hear violin music but it ended immediately and she assumed it was just a hallucination. The lights were still on, the deck full of people realizing the imminent disaster. It looked so _normal_.

"Your friend," Margaret said softly.

Helen closed her eyes and shook her head.

Margaret clucked her tongue and kissed Helen's temple. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

After Helen thawed a bit, she never actually managed to get warm, she heard one of the other women on the lifeboat ask, "Should we be getting so close to the ship?"

"It's going slow, so it's okay," a man said. "If it was going any faster, it would create a whirlpool and pull us all down. Thank God for small favors."

"Thank Stephan," Helen said softly. He hadn't been able to fix all the damage, but apparently he had repaired enough to slow the ship's descent. "He saved our lives."

Helen and Margaret huddled together to watch the ship of dreams slowly slip into the water, to watch the unsinkable ship drown. When it was gone, the night air filled with quiet crying and the cries of men in the water. Helen closed her eyes, trying not to think of Stephan's fate. Would his ability have allowed him to survive longer? When he drowned, did his body heal itself only to die again? Certainly not. She couldn't even start to think like that.

In the distance, a ship fired a rocket. Help, rescue, a savior.

As she shivered, she thought of Stephan's sacrifice. Slowing the ship's descent had without a doubt saved every person in the lifeboats. How many was that? A thousand? Certainly that many. None of them would ever know that they owed their lives to him, but Helen swore he wouldn't be forgotten. As long as she lived, and as long as there was a Sanctuary, she would make sure his name lived on.

"I swear," an Englishman at the bow of the lifeboat said, "a damned mermaid swam me out of the water!"

Helen watched the sun rise, watched the world resolve itself into a world of ice. The other passengers in the lifeboat were speechless, staring at the icebergs that surrounded them. One of them muttered, "Bloody miracle the ship wasn't ripped to shreds in this mess."

_It was,_ Helen thought, but she couldn't tell them the truth. Couldn't tell them that one man had sacrificed his life to heal as many tears in the _Titanic_ as he could. He was a hero.

Helen closed her eyes as she waited for the ship to reach them, to start the long process of pulling survivors out of the sea. Then she would be given dry clothes. She would wash the salt out of her hair, and she would put on a pair of shoes. She would be warm, soon, and she would move on with her life. Sixty years down, who knew how many more? How many more friends, lovers, partners would she have to watch die? How could she bear it?

She looked at Margaret, the determined gaze and the strong chin. Unsinkable. Allowing the emotions without letting them crush her. She wouldn't let it cripple her when there was work to be done. She would grieve, and she would remember, and she would pick herself back up. Helen straightened, pulling the blanket tighter around her. That's what she would be, in the decades ahead of her.

"Thank you, Molly," Helen said.

"You're welcome, Maggie," Margaret said. She squeezed Helen's hand under the blanket. "You can tell me what I did later."

Helen smiled and turned her face to the rising sun, waiting for the ship that had come to rescue them to arrive.


End file.
